Tuesday, 26 August 2014

There was something comforting about seeing a six year old portray no fear or prejudice towards the heavily tattooed man that sat less than a metre away from her. She didn’t flinch once. Not even when he ordered a beer, I suppose she’d missed the two already empty cans wedged between his feet.

It took a good half an hour for the girl’s ease with the new character to be adopted by her Mother - who was sat opposite, an eye on each trouble maker. She did eventually find a comfortable spot, slid down her reserved seat a little and even engrossed herself in a book, although I can’t be sure if that was to hide the disgrace she felt as her angelic child began to learn the not so angelic rules of poker.

Sunday, 24 August 2014

It’s when the one person you wanted to call doesn’t pick up. You’re greeted with “Leave a message,” Instead of the familiar, “Hey, what’s up?”

To hear love at the other end. That was all you wanted. A punch of encouragement. A gentle reminder that none of it really matters and you can breathe easy again.

But you didn’t get that. You got a long beep and monotone voice. You got a punch in the gut when you’re already hurting. It does matter and you can’t breathe easy.

Now you scroll through your contacts with a shaky right hand, knowing you don’t have anyone else. No back up or second in command. The burnt out cigarette in your left sparks a fire that makes you realise the taxi driver will be your only friend tonight.

By now, my hair mostly consists of the sea and (far too much) dry shampoo. I say that likes it's a bad thing but secretly I'd love to be able to rock a head of dreadlocks. If the unwashed delight that is my hair didn't make this week sound enticing enough I somehow managed to make a six hour journey to Wales turn into 12. Holy moly, me and trains (and now my bank account too) are not the best of friends right now.

The state of my hair and a certain mode of transport became more than bearable when the charming views that graced my eye line were out in abundance this week. I don't think I've been more stuck for decent words to use, there's little that can describe what I saw.

If there's one thing that makes me feel calmer, purer and more whole than anything else it's sea air. It's healing and beautiful and full of all the good stuff you could ever need. The sea has a tendency to fill me with longing, though for what I can't be sure. It wraps me up in a whirlwind of encouragement and new life. Life feels a little easier by the sea.

A week surrounded by the most healing kind of people, food, air, laughter, music has given my soul a whole heap of rest-bite. It tops anything I could have wished for and is only reconfirming that I'm nowhere near ready for this summer to end. I'd do it all again in a flash. With the same people, the same stupid (but bearable) jokes, except, maybe a shorter train ride!

Sunday, 10 August 2014

2 - bars of petrol left in my tank. How have I driven that much recently?! After this week, I'm considering moving to Venezuela, it's only 2/3p per litre of petrol there!14 - hours of sleep I've missed out on and am definitely craving.7 - runs completed since Monday. Damn, it feels good!6 - minutes of genius I can't get enough of.450 - photos to edit by the middle of next week.32 - days until I turn 18. Holy moly, that does not feel real.2 - losing scratch cards. Boo!1 - week until Iss is home and I am calm.4 - nights of conversations and laughter. And I am so thankful for those and the people that allow them to happen.5 - punches of much needed encouragement and tough love.10 - minutes on the phone to Max; absorbing camera knowledge and wishing for my sibling to be closer.

Sunday, 3 August 2014

There's little rhyme or rhythm to this week. Or this post. It's a jumble and mostly a reflection of the state my head is in. I know 'state' sounds a little negative, but actually I'm feeling at ease and have done for a healthy sum of the week.

If this week has enlightened me about anything it's that I have pretty much no filter on the words that spill from my mouth after around 9pm. Realistically, it's not like I have much of a filter before that but you get the idea. I've found myself talking a lot lately, and not about all that much really. There's the odd person that can tolerate it and will (I hope) happily listen to me ramble about little of concern while they cook, drive, shop. The point of this is that it's bloody lucky that I'm yet to find myself being punched in the face for excessive talking and laughing.

Most importantly, the gross feeling that came after consuming half a litre of frozen yoghurt at 10pm, in a car park with Paolo Nutini playing louder than necessary was definitely worth it. If you asked me why I probably couldn't give you an exact reason, I reckon I was just super content and calm in that half an hour.